


Roundabout

by TheRealSEHinton



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: I wrote it on a whim, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, i hope this is good d8ygyd, it's merely referenced, it's not nasty guys, the sex isn't graphic i swear dgd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSEHinton/pseuds/TheRealSEHinton
Summary: I don’t really think about sex a whole lot. I’m not going to lie and say he never once crossed my mind. But even still, I would never begin to think it would be him.This is what happens when you get involved with someone as unpredictable as Dallas Winston.
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	Roundabout

**Author's Note:**

> Omg another jally fic to feed that fandom
> 
> Guys. I'm starving. I need more content. More Jally before I start publishing my old cringey fics, please

Life after you lose your virginity is a little weird.

But maybe this isn’t universal. I mean, I don’t think this whole situation is normal, I don’t think guys do this kind of stuff often. If they do, no one has ever told me. I guess it’s not really something you talk about, not when you can be beat for it, not when you can be killed.

The danger of it all is the last thing on my mind, which is stupid. I wish I could focus on something else, or at least think about how I did something awful and disgusting that should never be done again. I’m too dumb for all that, though.

That’s always been my problem, ever since I was a kid, I can’t think right, not like a real man is supposed to. That’s why my dad’s always been on my ass, why he’s always telling me to use my head. Thing is, I am, but my head is wrong. It’s all screwed up and rotten and no good. My dad always says he’s trying to beat some sense into me, maybe he’s not doing it hard enough.

If I had a good head on my shoulders, if I was the kind of son my dad wanted, I wouldn’t be in this situation, would I? Smart boys, good boys, don’t fuck things up like this.

And they don’t like it.

Well, not that I like it, exactly. I mean, the aftermath of it all is a little devastating, to say the least. I’ve thrown up at least six times thinking about everything. Whenever I’m in my room, I huddle in the corner and rock myself and worry about someone finding out and barging inside and beating me senseless. But only sometimes, the rest of the time…

I’m thinking about other things, the things I liked. 

You can control your hands, you can get them to move quick and quiet so as to steal without anyone noticing, you can teach them how to light a weed and how to keep to themselves. You can control your mouth, so that you can’t say stupid shit that gets you a black eye and so you can’t pollute the earth with every useless breath of yours. You can control everything but your mind.

You tell it to shut up and it won’t, you tell it to calm down and it don’t listen to you, you can pray for it to leave you alone and no matter what you do it just won’t budge. It works on its own whenever it wants to, and sometimes that’s in the middle of your English class.

If it were up to me I wouldn’t be replaying the scene over and over in my mind, believe me, it’s the last thing I want. I’m in public mentally rewatching the moment like it’s some kind of nasty film playing at the drive in. Jesus Christ, it’s like a movie, all staticy and slow and loud.

But the worst part is that I can feel it.

If I’m going to be honest, I don’t think about sex a whole lot. I mean, it slips inside my brain every once in a while and I get urges like everyone else, but I don’t think it’s on mind as much as it is on Steve’s and Two-Bit’s and Soda’s. I just didn’t have any opinions on it and when I would hear people talk about it, I kind of closed my ears up--not because I hate the thought of it, but people can make it sound so nasty sometimes.

So it was kind of a surprise, how everything went down. Whenever the thought flashes for a quick second, even when I spend some time just in my bed focusing on it for a while, I don’t really get into the specifics. And, well, there’s a lot of specifics I never would have considered.

I don’t exercise often, but whenever I do there’s this strain I feel in my stomach, in my legs, in my lungs. I felt that same strain when it was all happening. It wasn’t really important at the time, I mean, I was obviously preoccupied with other things, but I felt it a lot. My legs would get cramped every once in a while, I remember. Sometimes, it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

It was pretty hot, kind of like the middle of summer hot but at the same time not really. My body felt like it was on fire but it wasn’t annoying, it didn’t hurt. I guess all that heat was just there, and I didn’t really care about it.

And, well, no one could have really prepared me for this, but it hurt like hell. I guess that’s just because of what I was doing, which I didn’t understand at first. I couldn’t have ever even imagined it, I didn’t know boys could do what I did.

I remember his whispers in my ear clear as day, “it’ll go away” and “it gets better.”

“I’ll make you feel good.”

Christ, I really don’t want to be thinking about him right when we’re talking about the intricacies of Nick Carrway’s feelings towards Jay Gatsby. 

Like I said, I don’t really think about sex a whole lot. If I ever do, I guess I just conjure up faceless people and play with a scenario of them. I’m not going to lie and say he never once crossed my mind, he did. But even still, I would never begin to think it would be him. 

This is what happens when you get involved with someone as unpredictable as Dallas Winston. No wonder everyone told me to stay away, I should have listened. I should have kept my distance when those strange thoughts started entering my brain. 

I wish I could stop remembering his moonlit face and his heated kisses and the way his eyes seemed to glow in the pale light. And his hands, and his neck, and his skin.

I should stop before something bad happens.

I open my book and read paragraphs on paragraphs of The Great Gatsby.

Dallas is nowhere to be found at lunch. Usually, he’ll ditch school but hang around for those forty minutes and ask me if I wanted to skip last period. But he’s gone. No one in the gang seems to care, Two-Bit just poked three holes in some bologna and wore it as a mask.

I don’t know why I’m surprised, it’s been three days since it happened and I haven’t seen him since. He probably doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m sure.

I’m just pissed. It’s not like it’s my fault, I didn’t ask him to sleep with me, I didn’t initiate it. I’m not the one who led him to the room and turned off all the lights and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, that wasn’t me.

“Johnny, are you okay?” Pony asks me, gesturing to the runny mashed potatoes my fork has been playing with.

I don’t answer him because I’m not. I’m thinking again.

It was Friday night and I was out with him at some party. He asked me if I wanted to go and I couldn’t say no, besides he always finds a way to make shit a little fun for me.

He was nearing drunk and I was a getting tipsy. I hate beer, I don’t see how anyone can like it, but it's the only way I can entertain myself in the middle of all the chaos. There’s this buzz I feel in my head and my body gets a little warm when I drink, I use that as a distraction when Dallas starts dancing with girls.

Calling it jealousy makes it too real, focusing on it makes it too obvious, so I try to drink the feeling away. I try to let my eyes slip away from him and the way he holds them close, I try to pretend I don’t wish that were me.

He wasn’t that drunk but I like to say it was because of the alcohol. He went up to me and grabbed my hand, dragged me out to the throng of strung out people, and started dancing with me. We weren’t too close to each other, we weren’t dancing like a boy would dance with a girl, but we were there. And sometimes our hands would find each other, and I wanted to pull away but I never did. He seemed so confident and happy, I just blindly followed his lead.

A few songs later and his expression changed. That’s when he took my arm and led me upstairs, not even discreetly. We bumped into a few people and he told them to fuck off, then we were in a room and he shut the door behind us. 

He didn’t immediately turn off the light, and I had a few quick seconds to study his face before it all went down.

One time I was sleeping over with him at Buck’s, and he was sloppy drunk. I was laying beside him and waiting for him to fall asleep, trying to close my eyes. And then he kissed me, it wasn’t long but it wasn’t short either. His lips were on mine and they were wet and open and then they weren’t. Then he started snoring. The next morning he was back to his usual self and he made no mention of it, I could have just told myself it was a drunk mistake he made and forgot about after some sleep, but instead I decided to convince myself it was all a dream.

But there, in that room while the lights were still on, I recognized that same face. It wasn’t as drunk, it was a lot more knowing, and I knew this was something neither of us would forget about. That should have been my sign to tell him to stop, I should have pushed him away and said we were both going to regret this.

But I let him kiss me. Hungrily, passionately, more knowledgeable than the last time. I let him pull me close and drape my leg over him, I let him lift me up and take me to the bed. And when the lights were off I decided to stop thinking.

He was gone the next morning. That’s when I knew we had caused some collateral damage.

I nearly have a heart attack when I see him outside of the school, hands in his pockets, leaning against a car he probably stole. 

“Hey, Dally,” Soda says, walking up to him and clapping his hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Dallas offers him a small smirk and adjusts his sunglasses. “Yeah, I’ve been out.”

“Doing what?” Two-Bit asks from beside me.

“Doing none of your fucking business, Matthews.” When Dallas slides his gaze over to Two-Bit, I can tell he notices me. I can feel the heat of his stare through the dark tint of his glasses and I look away.

Soda makes his way over to us again. “We’re headed over to my house, wanna come?”

Dallas pulls his attention off of me and rolls his shoulders, walking to the driver’s side of the car. “Not really interested.”

“Well, see you later.” Soda calls. Him and the rest of the gang start walking ahead of me.

I know I should join them and avoid this mess, but Dallas hasn’t moved. He opened his door and all but he’s standing idly by, still looking at me. I realize he’s inviting me to go with him without saying it.

I’m beginning to hate that. I wish he would talk more, I wish he would say what he’s thinking. I wouldn’t be in this situation if he didn’t wordlessly string me along like he does.

The gang isn’t too far along, I could walk away and join them. Maybe then I could prove a point to him. I can be careless too, I can be indifferent towards how he feels. I can get his hopes up and then leave him behind all by his lonesome.

He’s still waiting for me, then he starts to get inside of the car. I panic and rush to the passenger’s seat.

Shit. I guess I can’t control my own body after all.

He takes us to the park, by a secluded area hidden by deep shadows and large trees, a place no one hardly visits. We’re sitting in his car in awkward silence before he turns the engine off and gets out, I follow him. He moves towards a nearby bench and gestures to the seat, just to piss him off I stomp towards an empty grass area a few feet ahead and plop down there.

He gives off a little laugh. “So I guess you’re mad at me, huh?”

Maybe I shouldn’t respond. Maybe I should act like he does, just be a brick wall and leave all his questions unanswered, let him stay confused. Instead, I decide to be monosyllabic. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he says. “I guess.”

He grimaces after he says that, as he should. It was a fucking stupid thing to say. It pisses me off even more.

I don’t know what I was expecting coming here. An apology, maybe, but Dallas Winston would never say sorry, he has no regrets. He’s been saying from the start that he only looks out for number one, and I was too blind to realize that. Because for a second, I actually believed that he cared about me.

I don’t look up at him, I’ll just get hurt again if I see his eyes and remember the way they looked that night. “Just say what you wanna say, Dallas. Why’d you bring me here?”

He clears his throat. “I-uh-”

I notice that his hands are fidgeting. He does that sometimes, when he’s nervous. I try not to get too stressed about it.

He sucks in a deep breath and releases it with his next words, “We can’t do that again. What we did the other night? That can’t happen again.”

I say nothing for a moment. I’m just looking at him. He’s looking back at me. The seconds roll away in silence and we just stare at each other.

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” I say.

His expression falls, almost like it’s softening up. I can see the ice in his eyes melts. “No. No, of course I don’t, Johnny.”

“Well, no shit, Dallas,” I spit. “I’m not stupid, you’ve been gone for three days and you suddenly show up out of no where. Do you think I expected you to get on one knee and tell me how much you love me and how you can’t wait for us to fuck again?”

“Christ, Johnny,” he says through gritted teeth. “Could you be any louder?”

“You’re so full of bullshit,” I scoff. “I don’t know why you’re pretending to care.”

His lips tug into a frown. “About what?”

I stand up and throw my hands in the air. “About everything, Dallas. I’m not blind, you don’t think I figured out what you and Tim do after you stop fighting?”

His face pales. Then he sets his jaw firmly and lowers his voice, probably trying to scare me. “Johnny, look here-”

“Oh, shut up,” I say. “I’m tired of all your bullshit excuses. What’s the difference between me and Tim?”

“Johnny-”

“Tell me, what’s the difference? You’re up his ass every other Sunday and there’s no problem, why?” I swallow deeply, I can feel heat prick at the corners of my eyes. “Is it because you love him?”

“Jesus Christ!” He exclaims. “God, no. That’s not it at all.”

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. The tears are coming on, I can feel them. I might as well just leave, I might as well just pretend nothing ever happened. “Whatever, Dallas. Just take me to the Curtis’s house.”

He stops my arm as I try moving past him, then he grabs my shoulders and sets me in front of him. I don’t like the position we’re in, where he’s so tall that he has to hang his head to look at me straight in the eyes, and the eye-contact is unbearable. “Look, Johnny, what do you want me to do?”

I purse my lips and try to look away from him. I can’t. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you want me to be your boyfriend, or something? Is that what you want you?”

I feel the heat rise up in my throat and those tears pooling, blurring my vision. I don’t think I can handle it anymore. I feel like screaming, like yelling. “I don’t want anything, Dallas.”

“No, you do,” he says, firmly. I have a sudden urge to sock him in the face. “I can’t give that to you.”

I want to tell him I don’t care, I want to tell him to leave it alone. I can’t, my throat is too tight and if I speak I might start crying. 

“Tim…” he starts, the mere mention of that name makes me want to vomit. “Tim doesn’t expect anything from me, Johnny. He doesn’t want anything.”

“I get it,” I say bitterly. “I’m too sensitive, I don’t know how to handle anything. I’m not Tim.”

“No, you don’t get it.” He laughs and pulls away from me, running his hands over his face, through his hair. “That’s not… that’s not what I mean.”

“That’s what you’re saying,” I nearly yell.

“No, but it’s not what I mean!” He says. “Look, I don’t expect anything from him either. I don’t want anything from him, because he’s just Tim. There’s nothing more to it. He’s just Tim.”

“And I’m just Johnny,” I say.

“But you’re not just Johnny!” He exclaims. “You don’t get it, you’re just… you mean more than that. I don’t care about Tim, Johnny.”

Suddenly I’m holding my breath. It feels like I’m drowning, like I’m this close to dying. In the depths of my mind, I’m reaching out, looking for something to hold onto to stay strong, to stay alive in the midst of all the chaos that is my emotions. 

There’s too much I want to say, too much I want to do, questions I want to ask. But I’m looking into his eyes, and I know in the end all I’ll be is heartbroken.

“I’m not,” he starts desperately, “I’m not the kind of person who knows how to care for people, Johnny. I just know how to use ‘em a few times, that’s all, I just know how to hurt ‘em. I don’t want to hurt you. What if… what if you and I try to-to be something and I hurt you, or if we both get hurt. I couldn’t live with that.”

My hands feel hot, I’m clenching them into fists. My nails are burning deep marks into my palm. 

“You say you don’t want to hurt me,” I say, “but you’re hurting me right now, Dallas. Ignoring me for days, asking me to pretend what happened didn’t happen, I can’t take it, Dal. I don’t want this.” I bite my lip. “But I don’t think you care what I want, do you?”

“How can you say that?” He asks, sounding offended, looking like I slapped him in the face. It makes me even angrier.

“Because you don’t!” I yell. “You’re not asking me how I feel! You’re not asking me what I want! You’re acting like you know-”

He throws his arms in the air and yells back at me. “What do you want then, Johnny?”

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore!” My throat gets too thick and I hear my voice crack, he recoils at that sound as if it hurts him. I take in a deep breath and try to hold everything back, I hastily wipe my tears away. “I’m tired of being scared of you, of people, of my dad. I don’t want that anymore, Dallas.” I shrug my shoulders, almost like I’m in defeat. “I just want to be happy.”

He says nothing in response, he’s still fidgeting, his fingers are dancing widely.

“Don’t you want to be happy, Dallas?”

His teeth are tugging on his bottom lip. Slowly, he brings his hands together in front of him, looking down. His eyes are away from mine, I wish I could see them, I wish I had a clue of what he was thinking.

“Of course, I do.”

We’re quiet again. I’m surrendering, I walk ahead, away from him and over to his car. I reach the door and wait for him to unlock it. After a moment of staring at his feet in silence, he makes his way towards me, opens the car, and gets inside. 

When we’re both settled, my eyes immediately slide to his hand. It’s trembling, raising the key to the ignition. A flash of energy runs through me right before everything clicks, before the real world descends on us again. 

I stop his arm and turn his head towards me. He looks at me in surprise before it all registers. Then our faces are pressed together and he’s pulling me towards him. I move over to his lap and allow him to embrace me. I draw even closer to him than before, so that there’s no air interrupting the heat of our bodies.

At some point I pull back, only for a millisecond, my hands are tangled in his hair, and I whisper against his lips gently, “Let me make you happy, Dal.”

He turns on the engine when we’re done, rolls the window down, fiddles with the dial. A song is playing, it fills the air just like the late, summer breeze does. We take the lazy moments to catch our breaths, adjust our belts, do what needs to be done in order to appear discreet.

I look over at him once my lungs start functioning again. His hair is all tousled and messed up, he never cares for it like the rest of us do. I reach over and fix it for him, he smiles at me when I pull back.

I smile back, albeit it’s a little bitter. “Let me guess, we can’t do this again?”

He laughs, it’s hearty and full, like he’s back to his old self again. “I was kind of a dick, huh?”

“I mean,” I shrug,” more than usual.”

He’s grinning, I notice this way his eyes sparkle. I always wished for lighter eyes as a kid, but I’d much rather be in the position, where I’m able to endlessly gaze into a pair like they’re stars. I want more moments like this, I’m wishing for more. 

His lips fall, subtly. “I meant what I said, Johnny.”

I feel my heart sink and the back of my neck prickle with dread.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.

I nearly laugh in relief. Sitting up, I shake my head and tangle my fingers in his hair again, feeling the soft strands brush against my skin. “You know… I don’t really care.”

“Johnny-”

“I don’t,” I say firmly. “Maybe you will, but maybe you won’t. I’m not a kid, Dallas. I can take care of myself.”

He sighs, tilting his head into my caress. “I know you can, Johnny. But I don’t know if I can.”

I lean towards him, kissing his nose softly, then his jaw, then his lips. I look into his eyes once more and muster one more smile, trying to make him feel as safe as he makes me feel. “Then I promise not to hurt you either.”

He catches my hand in his hair and brings it to his cheek. “Is it that easy?”

A soft chuckle escapes my throat. “You think too much.”

With his free hand, he playfully hits my leg. “So do you.”

“But I’m working on it,” I say. Then I pull back and adjust in my seat, he follows suit and places his hands on the steering wheel. I speak again when he’s about to pull out of the parking lot. “I don’t want to worry anymore, Dallas. And I don’t want to hide.”

He’s sitting still, biting his lip and nodding slowly.

“I love you, Dal.”

“...”

“I know you’re not ready for that yet, I know you’re too scared. But I’m not, and I do. I love you.”

It’s only a minute or two later, when the car is on the road, rolling away from the trees and the grass and the summery shadows and our new memory, that he finally responds, “Me too.”


End file.
